


Lost to the World

by Anonymous



Series: The Ballad of Captain Kevin Cozner [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Closeted Character, Kevin is a cop, M/M, season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Third part of my Kevin Cozner as an NYPD Captain AU.Still takes place during early season six.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Series: The Ballad of Captain Kevin Cozner [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612810
Comments: 26
Kudos: 79
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Captain Raymond Holt missed Captain Kevin Cozner. He sat at his desk in his office, a stack of reports in front of him, fountain pen clutched in his fist, and all he did was miss Kevin. It was one thing to go home after a shift, to enter his apartment – which, before the safe house incident, he would have described as blissfully quiet and meticulously organized – only to find it cold, utterly devoid of life.

Because Kevin was not there.

At home, Raymond would lie in bed at night, unable to sleep, missing the dark basement, the cheap, springy mattress and most of all the sound of Kevin’s voice. His breathing, slow and regular. Even Cheddar’s soft snoring and Jake’s nonsensical sleep-talking, _Ames, are we out of Fruit Loops? We need to buy more Fruit Loops…_

The assignment had lasted only ten days, how could it have affected him this much? This was unacceptable.

_“J’étalerai mes baisers sans remord/Sur ton beau corps poli comme le cuivre,” whispered Cozner._

_Raymond’s breath caught in his throat. For a split second he wondered if his French was failing him, if he had misunderstood, but then Kevin moved closer, an inch, and Raymond’s trembling breath, finally free, mingled with his._

_Kevin’s fingertips on the back of his hand were a question, in reply Raymond’s eyelids fluttered closed and when their lips brushed, they both sighed, the tension giving way to a feeling of giddy relief. Finally._

_Raymond cupped a hand around the back of Kevin’s neck. Kevin’s pulse thrummed against his palm. He felt the impatient beat of Kevin’s heart and then his weight as he hoisted himself up to roll on top of Raymond._

His eyes snapped open.

Good God, he was in his office, at work!

This was not the place to get lost in the memory of kissing Kevin – a memory he had replayed exactly 313 times since the actual event had occurred, nineteen days ago now.

Better to recall the moment Kevin had withdrawn, his sullen silence afterwards, his stolen guilty glances.

One night, in a fit of loneliness and yearning, Raymond had purchased a copy of _Les Fleurs du Mal_. He’d leafed through the book, a thrill running down his spine almost as though the pages were the warm skin of the shy captain, until he had found the poem. _Le Léthé._

His fingers had curled around the spine as he had read.

_Viens sur mon coeur, âme cruelle et soured/ Tigre adoré, monstre aux airs indolents;_

_No, Kevin,_ he had thought bitterly, _you are the tiger. You have discarded me without a second thought. Was this what you were trying to tell me? That there is no heart in your chest?_

_L'oubli puissant habite sur ta bouche /Et le Léthé coule dans tes baisers._

It was entirely inaccurate. Why, the opposite was true. Raymond could not forget. Whatever he tried, there was Kevin Cozner in his thoughts, under his skin.

Every time the phone rang, Raymond’s heart skipped a beat, though he knew intellectually that it would not be _his_ voice on the other end of the line, he still picked up with breathless anticipation. And then, when it was not his voice, frustration boiled in his veins.

Whenever he left his office, his squad cowered in fear, as he would whip his gaze across the bullpen and always find something to criticize.

He was being unprofessional, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Did Kevin even think about him? Or had he already moved on?

An unwelcome voice in his head, far off his moral center, whispered that he had made a mistake, that he should have kept his mouth shut that night and simply slept with Cozner. Had the sexual tension been resolved, he would not be in this state now. How crassly unprofessional to regret not indulging in such unthinkable behavior! Sexual intercourse with a fellow captain during an assignment? Raymond shook his head at himself.

Had he taken leave of his senses? He must have.

The last time he had been this consumed with the thought of another man had been in the early days of his relationship with Frederick. A deeply troubling realization, that.

Raymond sank deeper into his office chair. He needed to banish these thoughts from his mind. He needed to get out and date other men and he needed to never see Cozner again. This infatuation would fade in time. A flame needed fuel; it needed something to consume. If there was nothing, it would die its natural death.

Meanwhile, all he had to do was avoid Cozner, child’s play since their paths had never crossed before they both ran for commissioner. The only place where they could run into each other was One Police Plaza, and if that should happen, Raymond would simply give the other man a wide berth.

It was easy.

***

“Tactical village!” Jake crowed, eliciting a sigh from Raymond, who had only just walked into the briefing room, and not even had time to put on his reading glasses yet. “You’ve all gotten the email, right? It’s tactical village time! Aaand everyone’s going!”

Peralta winked at him. “That includes you, Captain grumpy Captain, sir.”

“Yes, I have received the email notification, Peralta.” There had been an unpleasant moment, in which he had felt his stomach flip even as his chest tightened. But then Raymond had opened the attachment and confirmed that the 99th precinct was not scheduled for the same day as the 81st . He had calmed down instantly and swallowed the bitter tang of disappointment on his tongue. 

“So, this year, it’s captains, too? Guess that’s gonna be some competition for coolest kill, huh?” Diaz smirked.

“Pshaw, all due respect, sir, but you’re gonna have to pry that trophy from my cold dead hands.”

“You never had that trophy in your hands in the first place, Jake,” Jeffords said.

“Yes, but he will after this round! Also, this year, they’re going to model the tactical village after the Homeland Security counter terrorism drill because, you know, there has been a disturbing increase in active shooter situations—”

Jake nodded vigorously as he interrupted Boyle, “Yeah, this country is full of gun-crazy nutcases. On that note, I hope we get paintball AKs this year! I can’t wait to shoot some cops in the face!”

“Anyway, we did really well on that one Homeland Security Drill, remember?”

“You mean the one during which you ignored your orders and disrupted the entire training exercise, which led to my having to write numerous apologies to several federal agencies?” Raymond asked, eyebrows climbing to his hairline.

Boyle stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape while Santiago grimaced next to him. “Uuuh…”

“The point is,” Peralta intervened quickly to save his friend, “the 79th are going to be our terrorists this year and we are going to eradicate them! And I’m going to win coolest kill!”

There was a low buzzing noise, which made Peralta dig his phone out of his jacket.

“Are you actually reading a text message during my morning briefing?” Raymond asked, fuse shortening.

Jake held up one finger.

Raymond exchanged a glance with Jeffords, who half rose from his chair in response, ready to pluck the phone from Peralta’s hands and hopefully crush it.

“No, this is actually relevant! It’s an email from the department!”

“What does it say?” Jeffords asked with enough threat in his voice to make Peralta hunch down over his phone protectively as he read.

“Oh my God!” The wide grin spreading over Peralta’s face was definitely disconcerting. “Captain Roland Patel had to undergo an emergency appendectomy. Which is why he will be replaced by Captain Kevin Cozner!”

Raymond found himself clinging to his lectern. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Still grinning manically, Jake looked up from his phone. “Captain Kevin Cozner is going to be our tactical village nemesis! We’ll get to destroy him! It’s gonna be so awesome!”

“I guess it will be nice to see an old friend again, right, sir?” Santiago asked, a hopeful look on her face.

Raymond had absolutely nothing to say to that.

***

Nausea roiled in his stomach, swaying gently from side to side in a manner not unlike the movement of the bus he was currently on. Raymond sat up straight in his seat and gazed out of the window at the cityscape gliding by. He tried to block out the voices of his squad, but as usual Peralta’s nonsense was difficult to ignore.

“Okay, so today’s tagline is definitely, ʻThis time it’s personal!ʼ” the detective announced to his colleagues, “I am Jacob Sherlock Peralta – yeah, I’m going with my real name because this is real – and today is the day I face off with my former mentor turned terrorist, Captain Kevin Cozner,” his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, he finished, “aka _The Poztman_.”

“Your former mentor, really?” asked Santiago.

“Yeah, he showed me how to cook oatmeal once, which I immediately forgot because it’s basically tasteless goo and everyone knows the best breakfast is Captain Crunch mixed with Fruit Loops in orange soda. Anyway, it counts.” Raymond glanced over and saw that Jake had shifted in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “We totally bonded in the safe house and I’m honestly hurt he never called.”

“He’s not worth your tears, Jake.”

“What, Charles, I wasn’t crying.”

“I’m just saying if you were, he wouldn’t be worth it.”

“Whatever. Ugh. What I’m saying is, The Poztman is mine. I get to take him out. And then I get coolest kill for the way I do it. Because it will be super cool.”

“What about the captain?” Santiago interjected.

“What about the captain? He doesn’t care about this. Right, Captain?”

Raymond took a deep breath, trying to calm his stomach. “I do not care about this,” he said.

“I thought you and Cozner were friendly, sir. I mean the night I came to visit Jake—”

He shot her a sharp glare. “This is a departmentally mandated training exercise, Sergeant, not summer camp. I do not care about your little games, so long as you do not embarrass yourselves and the Nine-Nine. Understood?”

Amy flinched. “Understood!”

“See,” her husband whispered next to her, “This is between me and Cozner.” Then he called, “Charles, can you google Kevin Costner movie quotes? I really need a good line for when I take him down!”

“On it!” Phone in hand, Boyle half crawled over the back of Peralta’s seat so they could both look at the screen together.

“Yeeesh,” Jake said after a few moments of scrolling. “Has this guy never had a cool line ever?”

Boyle made a face, “I know right…” Then he brightened and pointed at the screen. “Oooh, how about this one, though?”

Peralta recoiled. “ʻDoes my inner child need a spanking?ʼ Ew, Charles why would I say that to him? Or to anyone? What movie is this even from?”

“I’ve never met this Cozner guy,” Diaz drawled from the back, “but you should _definitely_ say that to him.”

Jake kicked the back of the seat in front of him in frustration. “Ugh, why couldn’t his name have been Nicholas Caze?”

Raymond closed his eyes.

A few more minutes, then he would see Captain Kevin Cozner again.


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Kevin Cozner had only learned that he would replace Captain Patel on the morning of the exercise, almost a day after the decision had been made, almost a day after everyone else had been notified, a fact he gathered from a brief conversation with Patel’s second in command, Sergeant Joa, when they met on site. This was displeasing news, though not entirely surprising.

Lately, Kevin had been wondering whether Commissioner John Kelly was testing him. The old man kept throwing him curve balls, be it sudden reassignments issued to his staff, new, unheard of mandatory training he and his squad had to complete and now Kelly’s decision that Kevin was to take the place of any and all captains who for one reason or another could not take part in the tactical village drill.

No, he was not really wondering any longer. He knew the old man was testing him.

After the arrest of Seamus Murphy, Kelly had called Pembroke and Kevin into his office to lavish them with praise. However, when Kevin had pointed out that Captain Raymond Holt and Detective Jacob Peralta had done most of the actual work – that, in fact, they had saved his life – Kelly’s face had briefly frozen.

“Let’s not forget that their incompetence allowed Murphy to escape to Europe in the first place,” was all he had said before uttering a curt dismissal.

In the hallway, Captain Pembroke had punched his arm,  _ hard _ . “What the fuck did you do that for, Doggy Style? We could have gotten a freaking commendation out of this stupid mess!”

_ For what? _ Kevin had thought, glaring at Pembroke.

“I will not lie about my achievements, or my shortcomings for that matter, and neither should you, Captain.”

Pembroke had scoffed. “Man, you’re a goddamn piece of work. This is a game and you need to pull your head out of your ass, stop sabotaging yourself and start playing it right.”

In response, Kevin had deliberately slowed his pace and let Pembroke stride ahead. After a few more angry steps, Pembroke had spun around, hands already digging through the pockets of his leather jacket in search of his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

“Otherwise,” he’d declared, “Kelly’s gonna kick you off the winning team and you’ll end up on a sinking ship with cabin boy Pasty Ass Peralta and Captain Butt Pirate.”

It had surprised even Kevin himself how quickly he had closed the distance between them. His heart pounding in his throat, he’d slapped the pack of cigarettes out of Pembroke’s hand. Pembroke had stared at him, stunned.

“If you ever,” Kevin had heard himself say, voice low and eerily calm, “speak about Captain Raymond Holt in this manner again, I  _ will  _ write you up.”

Pembroke had glanced down at the cigarettes on the floor, then back up at Kevin, then his lips had quirked into a shaky smirk.

“You’ll write me up, huh, Doggy? You think the brass don’t say way worse shit than that about him? Seriously, get your head out of your ass.”

Pure rage had flared in Kevin’s chest. His hands had balled into fists and an image had flashed through his mind. He’d seen himself punching Pembroke square in the face, again and again.

In reality, he’d sucked in a breath through grit teeth, shoved Pembroke out of the way and stalked down the hallway, making sure to step on as many of the cigarettes that had rolled out of the pack as possible, grinding them into the ugly carpet as he went.

For days after, Kevin had sat in his office, his hands itching to reach for his phone, to dial the number of the 99 th precinct. He’d thought up all kinds of reasons for such a call, each new one more transparent than the one it succeeded. When his shift had ended, he had gone home and sat there, staring at his phone, thinking about calling Holt’s private number, which, shamefully, he already knew by heart. He’d never called, of course, because how could he after what had transpired between them?

He’d just sat there until, without fail, Cheddar would trot over, put his head on Kevin’s thigh and look up at him with his big brown German Shepherd eyes as if to say,  _ Enough now. _

“Sir,” Sergeant Joa said, interrupting Kevin’s train of thought, “you should probably introduce yourself to the squad. After all, you are going to be our commanding officer today.”

“Of course.” Kevin straightened and ran a hand over his stubbly chin. Silently, he cursed Kelly for notifying him so late he had not even had time to shave. But then, Kevin had thought somewhat defiantly, if he was to be in tactical gear, namely that awful sweatshirt, those polyester cargo pants and the combat boots, all day, playing terrorist, he might as well look the perfect hoodlum and forgo shaving altogether.

The squad was assembled on what used to be the schoolyard of the rectangular block of a building that up until two years ago had been an elementary school. As far as Kevin knew, it had been shut down because of asbestos, which apparently had since been removed. After concerned parents had protested the reopening of the school, the city of New York had decided to utilize the building for NYPD training exercises and the like.

Kevin walked up to the group consisting of three women and six men milling about the area. Most of them had drifted to the entrance of the building where the equipment storage had been set up. Cheddar by his side, he positioned himself roughly in the middle of the former schoolyard and cleared his throat. Somewhat reluctantly and certainly without any enthusiasm, the squad of the 79th stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to him.

“Good Morning,” Kevin said. “As you may know, I am Captain Kevin Cozner and I will be your commanding officer today. I am looking forward to working with you.”

“Did he say Kevin Costner?” someone whispered.There were a few chuckles.

“ _ Cozner _ ! Man, did you not read the email?” 

Kevin sighed, as unimpressed as he was unsurprised. This kind of childishness was all too common in the NYPD. 

Still, he approached each member of the squad individually to shake hands as it was only polite. They all looked at him, a little taken aback by the unexpected formality, and stated their names and ranks. Cheddar received a few friendly pats on the head as well, which he tolerated with an air of quiet dignity.

“I’m assuming the other squad will arrive shortly?” Kevin asked Joa as soon as he was done introducing himself.

“Yes sir, they should get here any minute now.” For a moment, the sergeant looked as though he wanted to say something else, but then he closed his mouth. The slight tension in his jaw did not escape Kevin.

“Something the matter, Sergeant?”

Joa averted his gaze. The rest of his squad had gone back to shuffling across the yard unenthusiastically. Their entire demeanor reminded Kevin of prisoners on a forced labor detail. Clearly, nobody wanted to be here. But then, the same was true for him, wasn’t it?

“Well, it’s just, you know, playing the terrorists is something of a chore. We already did our actual training exercise.”

Kevin frowned. “Oh? I was under the impression a fair number of officers actually preferred this portion of mandatory training to the regular drills as it gives them an opportunity to ‘unleash’, as it were.” Over the past few weeks Kevin had certainly met many such individuals. They treated the exercise as a game - he had heard there even was some kind of ridiculous trophy. Of course, he found the whole thing deeply unprofessional.

“This is still a training exercise and as such, you can still take something away from it. No matter which side you are on, this is an opportunity to practice teamwork and develop strategies,” he added.

If anything, the sergeant looked even more uncomfortable. “Sure. It’s just, when it comes to the squad we’re paired with, we really drew the short end of the stick. The Nine-Nine are super competitive and annoying. Sorry.”

Kevin felt as though a bucket of ice water had been thrown into his face. Surely, he had misheard. There were 77 police precincts in New York City, the odds were in his favor. “I’m sorry? Did you say the Nine-Nine?” 

“Yes?” Joa’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry if you’ve got any friends there. It’s just… I mean. They’re a little much, you know?”

“I… well…” Reeling from shock and furious with himself for not having prepared for this scenario, Kevin swallowed his words and tried to collect himself. Straightening his shoulders, he said, “No need to apologize. I worked with their captain once. I respect him, but we aren’t close. It will be interesting to see him again.”

With that, he marched over to storage to busy himself with his equipment, Cheddar following on his heels.


End file.
